by Talbot Mundy
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter One
MOSES LAFAYETTE O’LEARY tossed his soiled pith helmet to a coolie. Sweat streamed down his almost liver-colored face from a mass of black hair that curled with quite un-oriental vigor. He looked like a vaudeville Irish version of a Hindu without a turban. He squinted toward the setting sun. The Kadur River, where it circled the city wall, was blood-red.
“Blood!” he remarked. “If I was superstitious—”
He entered Captain Carl Norwood’s tent. Norwood’s native servant objected. O’Leary smote the servant. He removed a whiskey bottle, two long tumblers and a siphon from the ice-box at the rear, and came out winking at Sergeant Stoddart, who was shirt-sleeved, sweating, muscular and thirsty.
“Caught you!” said Stoddart.
O’Leary grinned. “All you’re fit to catch is hell and malaria. I’m taking pity on you. Here.” They sat, on cases of surveyors’ instruments, facing each other. O’Leary observed:
“As a sergeant of sappers, you’re a sap sergeant. You believe you’re here to find out why the Kadur River is all silted up. As if nobody knew it. You’ll sweat. You’ll wade. You’ll work. You’ll catch diseases; and you’ll draw your pay, if you live. Pretty soon now you’ll be sent home on a troop-ship to tell the English in the pubs how you’d rule India if you was commander-in-chief. You’d look handsome in a cocked hat.”
“Kid yourself you know a lot, don’t you?” said Stoddart. “This is good whiskey.”
“Sure I know a lot. I’m three men. You’re only what’s left of one, and white at that. I draw one-third your pay for using three times your brains. You only know what you’re told, all tripe and army regulations. Hindsight. Mine’s foresight.”
“You’re like all Eurasians,” said Stoddart. “You’d bet on all three horses in a three-horse race, and then set yourself up as a clairvoyant, along of having picked the winner. The secret of why the Kadur River has silted up is like a dog’s bone that he buries in sight of half the county. The priests have a diamond mine, and they’re critturs o’ habit. They dig by day. Come night-time, they’ve been dumping clay into the river since Noah’s Deluge.”
“Don’t you take the Scriptures in vain,” said O’Leary. “Noah was a saint, which is more than you are. Stick to your river survey. Watch out that the dam don’t break and learn you what a deluge is. Your job is to work with a dumpy and tape and a couple o’ poles, and set down figures to be stuck away in a file. My job’s to look for the reasons o’ things. I’m good at it.”
“I’ll admit,” said Stoddart, “you could find a drink in the Sahara. What d’you kid yourself you’re here to find out?”
“Your Uncle Moses, which is what I’m known as, will be looking for the promised land for your betters to make a mess of. Your Uncle Lafayette, which is my favorite name with the women, will be acting vigorous and gallant, same as usual, on supernumerary’s pay. The O’Leary of me being Irish, there’s no foretelling what I’ll do. Except, I’ll do it. Why d’you suppose they sent Captain Carl High-cockalorum Norwood and his easy smile, to Kadur, on a survey, that a saphead sergeant such as you are could tackle? And why did they send me along with him? They don’t mind saving pension money by sending you to die o’ malaria, but they don’t waste valuable men like me. Soon as I know what kind of trouble the Captain gets himself into, I’ll show you how he gets fetched out of it. No, no more whiskey. I’ll have to lie about this, as it is. One lie’s plenty. You’re a Protestant; you don’t have to confess your lies.”
“Won’t that Goanese priest let one lie cover two drinks?”
“No. He knows me. He’ll suspect two motives. I might risk it, if you could tell me where the Captain’s heading for this minute.”
“Easy,” said Stoddart. “Pass the bottle. Captain Norwood is on his way to the Residency to report arrival.”
O’Leary kept his hand on the bottle: “What else?”
“Nothing else. Regulation routine. In case you don’t happen to know it, and you’re an ignorant savage, a Resident at the court of a Maharajah is an Army officer who’s no good at soldiering. So they put him in the ‘political.’ As a rule he’s no good at that either. He’s a sort of ambassador. He attends functions. And he keeps out o’ trouble whenever he can. They tell me this Resident is a dabster at doing nothing and keeping it wrapped in cellophane.”
O’Leary passed the bottle: “Well, you get your drink, but you don’t deserve it. I’ll bet my month’s pay against yours that the Captain’s in trouble already. Trouble’s what he came here for. Did you ever know Norwood not to get what he’s after?”
“There’s someone else after something,” said Stoddart, staring over the rim of his tumbler, beyond O’Leary. “I’ll bet you know who he is. And I’ll bet you know what he wants, you bleeding ferret. What is it?”
“You’d better scram,” O’Leary answered. “Secrets and sergeants don’t mix good.”
Stoddart snorted: “There you go, murdering the King’s English, as well as not minding your own business. You picked up the word scram in the movies and you think it’s clever. The trouble with you is, Moses, that you try to talk too many languages, but you can’t shoot a bee-line in one of them. Talk English.”
“I will,” said O’Leary. “You scram. That gentleman who’s making you so curious is going to have to talk English too, on account o’ my dignity.”
“Who is he?”
“He’s the oil-can.”
“Meaning what?” asked Stoddart. “He looks greasy enough from the heat, but you haven’t looked at him, so you didn’t mean that.”
“All right, I’ll educate you. After that, you scram and learn English. I’m keeping him waiting o’ purpose.”
“On account of your dignity?”
“No. My dignity is like that bottle nose o’ yours: it’s been punched a time or two, but there it is. It’s inseparable and I’ll be buried with it. I’m keeping him waiting on account o’ his indignity that needs a bit o’ taking notice of, so it won’t be no secret from him. His name is Noor Mahlam. No, not baa-lamb. Mahlam. He’s the oil-can that goes around dripping the lies into the local works to make ’em grind good, and smell rotten and sound scandalous.”
“Reporter for the local paper?” asked Stoddart.
“No. He’s from the red-light district.” Stoddart grinned. “Seeing he’s a friend of yours, I might have guessed that.”
“You’ve drunk your drink, so scram.”
“I’d like another drink.”
“’Twouldn’t be good for you, and you know it. What you want is information about the red-light district. Well, I’ll tell you. Kadur City is hot.”
“You bet it’s hot,” said Stoddart. “It’s a hundred and five this minute, in the shade of my awning. But I suppose you had morals in mind.”
“Morals is right,” said O’Leary. “This place has the hottest morals this side o’ hell, unless maybe perhaps Lahore goes it one worse.”
“I never was in Lahore,” said Stoddart. “That’s why you’re still in the Army. Stay away from Lahore, and maybe you’ll get home safe to England with a pension. Lahore is full o’ women. And believe me, they’re women. I mean, not ladies.”
“Yes, I know what you mean. I’ve heard tell of ’em.”
“And those women o’ Lahore,” said Moses O’Leary, “are about the square root of one-tenth of one per cent as bad as the men. This man Noor Mahlam, who is squinting right now at the back o’ my neck, is a jewel in the crown of Kadur’s infamy. He thinks he’s tough, but he’s only crooked. He can eke himself a living in Kadur. But even the police o’ Lahore would laugh at him. He couldn’t live there long enough to starve.”
“What do you suppose he wants?” asked Stoddart.
“He wants news, you sapper. He wants to know why Captain Catch-em-alive-o Carl Norwood is in Kadur.”
“You’ll tell him?”
“Bet your boots and medals I’ll tell him.”
“Will you give him a drink?”
“I will not. For the sake of a harmless innocent like you I don’t mind letting down my dignity at times. But I wouldn’t steal Captain Norwood’s whiskey for that buzzard.”
“He doesn’t look like a buzzard. He looks fat and good natured.”
“You’re too innocent. Boy, when you get home to London they’ll pay you money to believe what you read in the daily paper. Now scram. I’ve kept that bloke waiting long enough — no, you don’t! You let go o’ that bottle. It’s Captain Norwood’s.”
Moses Lafayette O’Leary took a private swig from the bottle inside Norwood’s tent, and then put it away in the chop-box. With his hands in his trouser pockets for the sake of dignity, he strode toward the tree beneath which Noor Mahlam sat wondering how to broach the subject of his meditations. He did not appear to be wondering. His black turban only partly concealed a philosopher’s forehead. His silver-brimmed spectacles enhanced the mellow mildness of intelligent dark brown eyes. His nose was fleshy and good humored. His black beard and moustache were well cared for. They concealed something. His mouth was not in evidence. He arose to greet Moses O’Leary and, judging by the movement of his beard, he smiled, but the smile was invisible. At close quarters it was evident that his bulk was mostly fat, not muscle. He fitted flabbily into a bazaar-made black alpaca European suit.
O’Leary smiled too, genially. And he was polite, because Indians always are polite to one another and the Eurasian can swing from pole to pole of convention as readily as a thermometer registers change. There was nothing insincere about that, and it implied no concession to the other’s prejudices. He took the upper hand at once by speaking English:
“How d’you do, Noor Mahlam.”
“How do you do, sir.”
Moses O’Leary straightened himself slightly and drew his right hand from his pocket. He had to live up to being addressed as “sir” by a man of means from the red-light district. But it stirred his alertness. His suspicion, and more than that, was already wide awake. His voice hardened a trifle:
“Sit down, Noor Mahlam. Hot, isn’t it? No, I’ll stay on my feet. I’ve business to attend to. Can’t spare you more than a minute or two.”
“How did you know my name, sir?” asked Noor Mahlam in silky accents that suggested there was something else than silk beneath. It was a quiet agreeable voice, unless one listened to it too attentively.
Moses O’Leary smiled with the pride of the expert who needs no praise to justify his selfesteem:
“It’s my job to know things. Check me. You were a lawyer. You served a term in prison in Cawnpore for cheating a client. You were disbarred. And now you’re a pimp. Am I right?”
“Sir, I am a public relations counselor. It is a new profession, in India.”
“It’s a new name for an old game,” said O’Leary. “But you’ve come to the right place. I’m the publicity man o’ this surveying party. What do you want?”
Noor Mahlam looked bland and innocent. His eyes were as kind as the milk of the moon, but his mouth remained hidden. He wiped the sweat off his face with a handkerchief, then removed his spectacles and wiped them too, before he answered:
“I want nothing, Mr. O’Leary.”
“You’re a lucky bloke!”
“I came to enquire if I can be useful. If I could have the ear of your officer—”
“I’m it. I’m both ears. I’m his teacher, his keeper, his nurse, his confidential secret’ry, his father confessor and information man.”
“Sir, if you are truly in Captain Norwood’s confidence—”
“Try me. Him and me are like the two sides of a rupee. And it’s a two-headed rupee. He’d believe me even if I was to tell him you’re honest.”
“I could reciprocate, Mr. O’Leary. There are many people to whom it is highly important to know why Captain Norwood is in Kadur.”
“Have you heard about the survey of the Kadur River?”
“Yes, Mr. O’Leary, but nobody believes that.”
“Well, it’s the fact. We’re here to run a survey of the Kadur River.”
“Ah! But of what else than the river? I am commissioned to offer rupees fifty for correct information.”
“And me a poor man! If I weren’t a good Christian and afraid to take the name of the Lord in vain, I’d be critical o’ your conscience. What’s come over the race o’ pimps? D’you think it’s decent to insult my poverty with an offer o’ fifty rupees?”
“Sir, I might make it a hundred.”
“You’ll have to make it twice that before I’ll hesitate. Besides, I don’t think I need you.”
“Mr. O’Leary, I think you underestimate my ‘value. There is nothing that I don’t know about the politics of Kadur. I am the trusted informant of people in very high places.”
“High?” said O’Leary. “In the magistrates’ courts they call ’em low places. If all the gossip you’ve got is from the red-light district, you can go look for another customer. Captain Norwood’s decent.”
“Ah, but how about you?”
“I know how to take care o’ myself. What d’you take me for? A tourist? I don’t need no guide to teach me how to gawk at easy women.”
“Sahib, I can tell you actual, authentic facts about the palace.”
The word “sahib” was a mistake. It stiffened O’Leary’s feeling of superiority. It spurred him to contemptuous offensive tactics:
“I don’t believe you. What’s new at the palace?” Noor Mahlam chuckled. It was like the gurgle of dirty water and it swallowed the silk of his voice. Even his gesture changed. He became as hoarse as an auctioneer encouraging a doubtful bidder:
“Sahib, there is newness at the palace such as never before was! There is a godsend in the guesthouse. She has money, and a niece worth more than money. Oh, such loveliness! And oh, such ill temper! The aunt is never satisfied unless she is humiliating someone. She humiliates even His Highness. And the niece is never happy unless she can be as kind as her aunt is cruel.”
“Why are they there?” asked O’Leary.
“It is a mystery. Nobody knows.”
“Who wants to know?”
“Ah, sahib, you must not ask what I may not tell you.”
“I’ll bet a month’s pay,” said O’Leary, “that the temple Brahmins have sent out a call for information.”
“Would it make any difference to you, Mr. O’Leary, where the two hundred rupees came from, supposing you had it?”
“Two fifty might tempt me. I’d think it over.”
“Even that price might not be too high for exact information as to why Captain Norwood is in Kadur; and also why Mrs. Harding and Miss Lynn Harding are here at the same time. There is some connection. What is it?”
“I’ll find out,” said O’Leary.
“And you will sell me the information?”
“I’ll think it over. If I can’t find a higher bidder, maybe you and I can do business. You’d better watch out for me. I’ll take a stroll through the bazaar later on.”
“Very well, Mr. O’Leary. My office is—”
“What do I care where your office is. D’you think I’d let myself be seen calling on you? You keep a dekko lifting. You’ve plenty o’ spies. Find out where I go, and follow, and bring your money with you. Three hundred.”
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“But sahib, we agreed to—”
“I said three hundred. You’d better go before I’m seen talking to you. Captain Norwood might be back any minute. If he should ask me who you are I’d have to tell him, and it wouldn’t sound nice. Him and me never lie to each other.”
“Very well, Mr. O’Leary, I will go now. But please remember: it is dangerous to —
“I know all that stuff. No need to try to scare me. I’m scared a’ready. Don’t you worry. If it’s Brahmins at the bottom o’ this, I’ll keep it secret. So long. And don’t you come back here unless I tell you it’s safe.”
“Very well, sahib.”
“And see here; I’m not blind, deaf, drunk, nor innocent. I’ve my own ways o’ finding out this, that and the other. So I know you’re in no one’s confidence. You’re a heel, if you know what that means. You overheard some talk in the bazaar, and you spotted one o’ my spies, and he talked. You gave him one rupee, eight annas.”
“Sahib, I—”
“Shall I whistle him? He’s here in the camp.”
“But will you believe him against me?”
“You listen! If you want to, you can brag that I trust you. I’d as soon trust a snake. But your bragging won’t cost me anything, nor commit me to nothing. So you go to your principals and have your money ready, spot cash, before you waste any more o’ my time.”
“Sahib, I am in the confidence of most important people.”
“Prove it! And now clear out quick before Captain Norwood comes and sees me talking to you. He’d think I’d lost my sense o’ self-respect. That’s all. Not another word. Beat it.”
Chapter Two
CAPTAIN CARL NORWOOD was in nothing yet that he or anyone could recognize as trouble. On horseback, followed by a mounted native orderly, he was entering the ancient gate of Kadur City. A good-looking fellow, young to be a Captain of Royal Engineers. He looked more like a cavalryman. Inside the city gates, there was a stinking herd of loaded camels. They blocked the street.
Norwood’s horse that wasn’t used to camels went into a panic. When he had calmed the horse he dismounted, gave the reins to the orderly, and told him to let the horse get used to the smell of camels and follow as soon as the camels were out of the way. He wanted to stretch his legs anyhow. It was only a mile walk to the Residency, on the far side of the city. The swarming streets were interesting, just before sunset, with the night life just beginning and the afternoon life not yet dead.
